by R S Surtees
The worthy baronet, assisted by a few friends on either side of the chair, has been endeavouring to grope his way to the truth through a long list of witnesses, on the back of a formidable-looking bill of indictment, against the celebrated Lucifer Crowbar, the London cracksman, for burglary, and which, though bolstered up with a fine array of circumstantial evidence, is deficient in the main proof. The fact is, that Tom Tripper the great thieves’ attorney, has palmed the principal witness, Joseph Hobnail, whose farmhouse was broken into, and Joe’s memory has failed him. Tripper knows well that grand juries have no depositions to guide them, and always marks his sense of their services by drinking their healths first at his thieves’ ordinary, thus:— “The grand jury! the magsman’s best friend!” Tripper has operated successfully this time.
What Hob swore to point-blank before the magistrate he only thinks now; and altogether he is painfully conscientious. He “wouldn’t like to swear nothin’ he’s not certain of.” There’s an earnest honesty about his wrinkled sunburnt face, shaded with venerable snow-white locks, that looks like truth. Sir Thomas Tenpence is puzzled. “Pray attend to this, gentlemen!” he exclaims, from the top of the table.
“What’s the number?” asks Mr. Buckwheat, referring to his calendar.
“Six,” replies Mr. Screecher, across the table.
“Is that the assault on the woman?” asks Mr. Badlad, from below.
“No,” growls Mr. Prettyman, with a frown.
Sir Thomas, in a clear business-like way, then states the difficulty, observing that he does not think a petty jury will convict on the evidence, while if they ignore the bill, and any fresh evidence be afterwards procured, Crowbar can then be put on his trial.
“That’s to say if you can catch him again,” observes Mr. Screecher.
“Wish you may get him!” exclaims Mr. Larkspur.
“Bird in the hand’s worth two in the bush,” suggests Mr. Buckwheat.
“Precious little chance of getting any further evidence if he’s in the hands of any of the great perverters,” observes Mr. Girths. “Alibis, five pund; suppression of evidence, two pund ten; witnesses to character, seven and six each.” (Laughter.)
“Well, gentlemen, what do you think?” asks Sir Thomas.
“O! give him a squeak for it now,” says Captain Couples.
“Cost no more,” observes Mr. Buckwheat.
“No doubt he did it,’ says Mr. Snoreem.
“Or something quite as bad,” joins Mr. Boreem.
“Or he wouldn’t be here,” asserts Mr. Floorem.
“His name’s enough,” adds Mr. Quorum.
On a show of hands, however, the bill is thrown out, and, on the application of Mr. Drearyface, his lordship allows the cost of the judicial farce.
The filthy Tripper reels off with the prisoner, vowing that he will bring an action on behalf of his most respectable and much-injured client!
But we have made a mistake and gone into the wrong Kurt, Mr. Jorrocks’ business is in the other one. Let us look at him, as Sterne did at his captive.
Few are ignorant of the miseries of hanging about a court of justice, — either they have appeared in the characters of injured plaintiffs, or the still less enviable one of unwilling defendants, or they have been subpoenaed as witnesses, summoned as jurors, or waited for those who were. Unlike other crowds, the fever of excitement never flags. — Crowds rush in to supply the place of those whom victory sends rushing out, or those whom blighted hopes send stalking unconsciously through the throng.
In the box on the judge’s right are the “specials,” — men who have little to do in court, and less at home, and yet think themselves desperately oppressed by being called on at all. Opposite are the common jurors — tradesmen, mechanics, farmers, and so on, drawn from their homes at a great inconvenience, for four-pence, a verdict, and no thanks. The bench is sprinkled with pretty faces, ranged like milliners’ bonnets for sale. Below is the bar-table, round which are wigs and gowns, whose owners could tell fearful tales of hope deferred and disappointed expectations.
There is a leader, with a bag full of briefs; not a cause is called on but he is engaged; the judge lends his car, and the fawning juniors flutter at his frown. Next him, with whiskers matching the colour of his wig, is one whose day is gone by, — whose well-stored bag has dwindled to a single brief, the winter of whose discontent is sharpened by the recollection of the prosperity he once knew. The rosy-gilled gentleman on his left is a country practitioner, who reaps a small harvest at assizes and sessions, without enduring the pangs of Westminster Hall, the turmoil of the circuit, or the confinement of inn-chambers. Another great leader follows on; sallow, solemn, and care-worn; — and then come a long file of juniors, with health ripening on each brow, until we come to the pink-and-white youth with the wig and gown of yesterday.
Some judges consider special jury cases, which Doleful’s was, peculiarly the property of the rich, consequently have no compunctions about letting them remain to the last, and Baron Botherem was of this opinion. Four mornings did Mr. Jorrocks fall into the rear of Mr. Marmaduke Muleygrubs’ coach, each morning showing the fading finery of the set-out: the trumpeters’ boots grew less bright, the harness lost its polish, Marmaduke’s ruff began to droop, and on the fourth morning the stiff-necked flunkies appeared in black cravats. Still, despite all the worthy high sheriff’s assurances to Mr. Jorrocks, that he would make the judge take his cause out of order, Baron Botherem went pertinaciously through the list according to the order in which they had been set down. The fourth day was the last, and there were four special jury cases to be tried, Doleful v. Jorrocks being the third, the briefs in those before it being of such a size as to make the trials appear well calculated to last for ever. The first, however, went off unexpectedly; and at half-past ten the cause immediately before that in which our worthy friend was to figure came on before a full special jury, with a string of witnesses that occupied the court till eight o’clock at night. It was a dull, uninteresting affair, respecting the liability of an insurance office, and the verdict was heard with apparent indifference by a crowded court, all anxious for Doleful v. Jorrocks to be called on.
The jury-box was at length cleared, the judge supplied with fresh pens and a few green-shaded block-tin-standed compos scattered promiscuously about the bar-table, while the crier made proclamation for all special jurors in the action of Doleful v. Jorrocks to appear and answer to their names. This was a signal for a general commotion in the court; jurors fought their ways out, while others fought their ways in; and a messenger having been despatched to the Criminal Court, for both judges were working double tides in order to get away in good time to dine with the Lord Lieutenant next day, the high sheriff entered in such a hurry that he tripped over his sword and blobbed headforemost into court at the back of Baron Botherem, who was sadly discomposed by his awkwardness.
Order was at length restored, and five top-booted and five trousered esquires having answered to their names, two gentlemen in drabs and continuations (described in the panel as merchants), fill up the jury, who, having taken the oath by threes to a book, settle themselves into their box, looking both solemn and wise. Mr. Jorrocks, having the entrée, plants himself behind the judge’s chair, and Captain Doleful confronts him below, near the witness-box.
Our old friend, the Hon. Mr. Lollington, having muttered something beginning with “My Lud” and ending with “issue,” sits down, and Mr. Burley Bolster, a large pasty-faced gentleman, in silver-rimmed spectacles and a patent wig, presents his ample front to the jury. Clearing his voice, he leans with his thumb on the table and scrutinises the jury as he thus addresses them: —
“Gentlemen of the jury, the plaintiff in this case, as my learned friend has told you, in somewhat more technical than intelligible language, is Captain Miserrimus Doleful, a gentleman, not only holding her Majesty’s commission in the army, but also the important and highly honourable office of master of the ceremonies of Handley Cross Spa, a wateri
ng-place with which, I make no doubt, you are all more or less acquainted; and my distinguished client comes into court this day to seek at your hands that reparation which one John Jorrocks refuses to afford him out of it. Jorrocks, he understood, was manager of the Handley Cross fox-hounds, a situation that enabled him to obtain all manner of information relative to horses; and he regretted to see a man whose appearance was respectable so far losing sight of all honour and gratitude, as to avail himself of his superior knowledge to the injury of a friend, to whom he was under the greatest obligations, and who had fought and bled for his country.
“Captain Doleful, as he said before, was an officer — one whose life had been devoted to the service of his country, and who now, applied his energies to the promotion of the happiness and hilarity of the public. Jorrocks, in another line, was also a servant of the public, and he could not but regret services so dissimilar should have been unfortunately brought in collision by the misconduct of either party. He would not trouble the jury, at that late hour of the night, with a detailed account of the obligations Mr. Jorrocks was under to the plaintiff, not only for obtaining him the mastership of the Handley Cross hounds but also for introducing him to the élite of the aristocratic society frequenting the celebrated Spa; but he would content himself by showing how Jorrocks now sought to kick down the ladder by which he had risen to fame by injuring the man to whom he was under such onerous obligations.” (Mr. Burley Bolster shook his head, as though he felt it desperately, and referred to his brief. Doleful grinned with delight.)
“Towards the close of last hunting season, gentlemen,” continued Mr. Bolster, “the defendant, for reasons best known to himself, offered the whole of his stud for sale by public auction, but, among other horses that were not sold, was one called Xerxes, which was afterwards purchased by my client by private contract of the defendant’s servant, who, by the direction and consent of his master, warranted the horse sound, — warranted the horse sound, I say. It was a long and trouble-some negotiation, carried on sometimes by letter with the principal, at other times by conversation with his servant, whom I shall call before you! but, ultimately, a bargain was concluded, and the sum of twenty-five pounds paid to the defendant as the price and value of the horse.
“Value, did I say, gentlemen?” exclaimed Mr. Burley Bolster, suddenly checking himself; “I made use of an erroneous expression, for he was absolutely valueless; but the sum of twenty-five pounds was paid as the price of the animal. Well, gentlemen, the plaintiff immediately removed him to a most comfortable and commodious private stable, where he had every attention and accommodation that a horse can require — corn the soundest, hay the sweetest, water the purest, grooming the most elaborate and scientific, but, somehow or other, he throve not. My client’s amiable and unsuspecting nature never allowing him to imagine that he had so long fostered a viper in his bosom (casting a contemptuous look at Mr. Jorrocks), went on, day by day, and for several days, in the hope that the change was merely occasioned by a difference of treatment or of food, and that the horse would speedily resume his wonted appearance; but, alas! ‘hope,’ as usual, ‘told a flattering tale.’ He went on, from bad to worse, and when at length the consuming fever had worked deeply into his constitution, my unsuspecting client, awaking from the trance of confidence in which he had been so long enthralled, wrote to the defendant, representing how matters stood; that individual, so far from expressing his regret at the inconvenience he had caused my client, and offering to take back the horse, actually treated the matter with levity, and added insult to injury, by laughing at the man he had so basely defrauded. My client, then, has no alternative, but presenting himself before a jury of his country, and I am happy to see that the defendant has empanelled a special one, at whose intelligent hands, I feel no manner of doubt, my defrauded client will receive that reparation which John Jorrocks so unjustly denies him.
“Were it not for the appearance of the defendant in court, and the voluminous brief I see before my learned friend Mr. Chargem, I should have imagined that judgment would be suffered to go by default, as in the case of an undefended action; and even now, gentlemen, I am at a loss to imagine what defence my learned friend’s ingenuity will enable him to offer; for I submit, under the guidance of his lordship, that it is clear law, that where an article is asked for to answer a particular purpose, the seller impliedly warrants that it is fit for that purpose, so that even should I fail in my proof of actual warranty, which, however, I do not anticipate, I shall still be entitled to your verdict on the general construction of the agreement; for, had my client been in want of a coughing, consumptive horse, he would have asked this defendant, Jorrocks, if he had such an animal, instead of which, throughout the transaction, he goes on the principle of obtaining a useful, though not a handsome horse.
“And now, gentlemen, one word with respect to a person of the name of Pigg, whom I shall presently call before you, though, perhaps, he will appear rather in the nature of a reluctant witness. This Pigg is huntsman and general stable manager to the defendant Jorrocks, and seems to be a convenient sort of person, on whom Jorrocks foists such jobs as he does not like to take upon himself, and Pigg will be placed in the witness-box to show that he was the accredited servant of the defendant, from which a legal axiom arises, laid down by the great Lord Ellenborough himself, in the case of Helyear v. Hawke (Espinasse, page 72); that if a servant is sent with a horse by his master, and gives directions respecting his sale, that the servant thereby becomes the accredited agent of his master, and what he says respecting the horse is evidence.
“And in another place his Lordship adds, ‘I think the master having intrusted the servant to sell, he is intrusted to do all he can to effectuate the sale, and if he does exceed his authority, in so doing he binds his master.’ Now, gentlemen, I shall prove by a letter, in the hand-writing of the defendant, that Pigg was authorised by the defendant not only to receive the purchase-money, but also to warrant the horse; and having established that point, I shall proceed to prove, by competent witnesses, that the horse was labouring under a mortal disease at the time of the sale. That done, I feel assured you will arrive at the only conclusion open to sensible men, and find a verdict for my client.”
The letters, as already given, being admitted, were put in, and read amid much laughter, and Mr. Burley Bolster then desired the crier to call James Pigg.
“James Pigg! James Pigg! James Pigg!” sounded all around the building, and passed outside.
“Ar’s here!” exclaimed a voice at the back of the witness-box, where he had been sleeping; and presently James Pigg made his appearance in front.
A solitary mould-candle placed on the crier’s desk at the side shed a dim light over James’s person, showing the lustre of his eye and the care-worn character of his countenance. He was dressed in a dark coat, with a striped waistcoat, and white neckcloth, upon the tie of which was a large stain of tobacco-juice, which in the gloom of the court looked like an extensive brooch.
“Now, Pigg?” said Mr. Bolster, in a familiar tone.
“Now, Wig!” responded James, in the same way.
“Mind what you are about, sir!” said Baron Botherem, with a frown.